He opened a book, but it was impossible to read two paragraphs consecutively.

His watch said twelve o'clock.
"She will not come!...

She will not come!" he cried in desperation.
A new idea revived his drooping spirits.

It was ridiculous that so discreet a person as Freya should venture to come to his room while there was a light under the door.

Love needed obscurity and mystery.
And besides, this visible hope might attract the notice of some curious person.
He snapped off the electric light and in the darkness found his bed, throwing himself down with an exaggerated noise, in order that nobody might doubt that he had retired for the night.